


i wanna count the freckles on your face

by couriersexy



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, as a treat, my fics may have a little witcher 3 geraskier traveling companion au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22251853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couriersexy/pseuds/couriersexy
Summary: excerpt from a trip out of a novigrad
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 57





	i wanna count the freckles on your face

**Author's Note:**

> primarily based off geralt and dandelion in the witcher 3... like the fool i am i’m writing this directly into the ao3 textbox at 1 am as i have only been able to think about this for two days ♡ please take it

Though the years of relaxation and months of owning the Rosemary and Thyme have somewhat softened Dandelion around the edges, he still trails along behind Geralt with the same jauntiness in his tunes he used to have.

Geralt supposes, for a moment, it may be a mistake letting him come along. But this is just a simple contract, take care of some drowners, pick up the gold deposit in the nearby village, relay the tale to Dandelion, the usual. So he concludes the bard will be safe enough with him.

The journey began late, however, and drowners are most frivolous at night, so they take a while to rest. 

Dandelion absentmindedly plucks at the strings of his lute, stops every once and a while to tap out the ghost of an unformed tune. Geralt sits to his left, quiet much the same, and takes inventory of the materials he’s gathered over the past week or so. The odd domesticity of the thing is nearly enough to make the witcher’s heart sway. 

Seems he’s become poetic in his own way after all these years with the bard. 

As the sun sets further, Geralt rises from his spot to begin making dinner (though Dandelion would never call it that. The echo of a poem about his “monstrous soup, disastrous dupe” rings in the back of the witcher’s mind).

Soon enough the dubious soup is prepared, and they chat over minced onions and broth. Dandelion fills the air with talk of the happenings in Novigrad, the recent play he’s seen, Zoltan’s new card hobby, how Geralt “just has to see” his new room in the cabaret. There’s a familiarity to it, a nostalgia that comes with the familiar routine of what they did in years past. And yet, sitting here with Dandelion, his best friend, there’s a sort of new air to everything. As if they very catacombs of stars that destiny has preordained has finally brought them together in a winding labyrinth. 

Dandelion soon droops into Geralt’s space, lays his head on his shoulder, places his own hand snugly into Geralt’s and begins listlessly talking about the constellations.

Geralt thinks he hears something comparing him to the hunter constellation’s “macabre beauty”, but is too preoccupied with the feeling of closeness he has yet to readjust to. 

Soon, Dandelion will inevitably withdraw himself from the spot he has carved into Geralt’s side. He’ll take off the traveling cloak he packed and crawl into his sleeping bag. Drawn back into whatever goes on in a writer’s mind.

So Geralt tightens a hold on him. Squeezes him further into his own space, and Dandelion just falls into it with a slight stutter between the sentences he’s forming about Perseus and Andromeda. He’s only halfway caught the story. 

They stay this way until the bard’s sentences become fragments and his fragments become mere words, trailing off into yawns. At this point Geralt pulls him back into his tent.

Dandelion falls into beat with this and they fall asleep, curled up like something the poet would write about in one of his songs. 

They wake up and pack up the camp. Dandelion pulls on the cloak and slings the lute onto his back and begins rambling on about how he’s sure a song about the White Wolf fearlessly slaying monstrous swamp creatures will bring in crowns like cows to wheat. 

Geralt grabs hold of his hand, and they set out for the day.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway thank u for reading i liked getting into chad geralts head hehe


End file.
